


Goodbye Midnight

by HumsHappily



Series: The Pesky Part of Being Human [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Character Death, Dark John Watson, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Murder, Pain, Post-Reichenbach, Unrequited Love, Winglock, johniarty, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has finally tracked down Moriarty. What he'll do when they meet up well...that's to be seen. But it won't be pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the series of Winglock fics, featuring John Watson in various pairings. 
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> Bit graphic, much dark. Not at all like my normal. Be warned. Don't like, don't read.

“So you are alive,” John said, voice dangerous and dark as he trained the gun on the shadowy figure in front of him. It giggled, wings fluttering excitedly.

“John! I’m so pleased you found me,” Jim said, batting his eyelashes as he stepped into the light. “Tell me! Poor John without his Sherlock. Have you been crying?” 

John gave a low chuckle. “Every night,” he said without shame, stepping forward. “I loved him you know. I regret it now. Not telling him. Not showing him.” 

Jim giggled. “Did you now? Oh my, my, what a surprise!” He smirked. “Well. Not really. Not for us, was it? We're alike, aren't we? Both longing for Sherlock's approval. Longing to be admitted to the game."

“Don’t put us together,” John snapped, tilting the gun up.

“Ooh! Feisty,” Jim taunted. “What’s wrong, doctor Watson? Don’t you like me?” 

“No. I don’t...like you.”

“Then why are your trousers tented?” Jim asked, cocking his head with a devilish grin. “Is it that you’re going to kill me? Do you get off on death, Johnny? No wonder Sherlock liked you." 

“Sherlock liked me because I treated him as a human being,” John said. “And no, my trousers are tented because I see something I want.”

Jim’s smile faltered, before coming back in full force, wings stilling. “What might it be you want?”

“You,” John said in a mocking, sing-song voice. “I can’t have Sherlock any more, can I? You’ve ruined that. So now I want the next best thing.” He tilted his head. “You did say you two were alike, didn’t you? Practically made to match each other. Which means if Sherlock liked me, so...do….you….” He trailed off, and stepped forward again, tilting Jim’s head up with the barrel of his gun. “You are a pretty man. Or you were...before you got this nasty scar on your face. Shouldn’t play with guns, Jimmy darling.” He paused. “Hmm. Your wings are very dark, aren’t they? Black as your soul.” 

“My soul is black,” Jim said quietly, fingers drumming a nervous pattern on his thighs as John kept the gun pressed to his chin. “But yours is not, Johnny boy. You won’t shoot me! How could you shoot me?” He grinned, eyes glinting with a dangerous thought. “I’m the only one who knows where Sherlock is.” 

John faltered for only a moment, left fist clenching at his side. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Jim replied with a giggle. “Pinky promise.”

“He’s dead.” 

“He’s not.” 

John snarled, shoving the gun harder against Jim’s chin, the sight digging into the skin, a small bit of blood beading up. “You’re a bastard, Jim.”

“Am I? I didn’t know!” Jim laughed again. “Do you want to know where he is? I have such good news.”

John couldn’t help but laugh bitterly along with Jim. “I know where he is. I put him in the ground myself.” 

“Did you? Did you lower the body into the coffin? Fold his wings back, make sure they rested easy?” Jim taunted, hand slipping behind his back, reaching out for something.

“Whatever you’re doing, I’d stop,” John warned, and reached out, tugging Jim forward by the collar. “I’m finished here. Get on your knees.”

Jim giggled again. “Don’t you want to take me to dinner first?”

“No,” John said coldly. “I’m warning you-”

“Oh, you won’t do anything. You’re just a guard dog and master’s gone away. Such a good little pet for our Sherlock, weren’t you John?” Jim asked, turning away. 

“He wasn’t yours,” John replied, and then smiled. “Jim. Come here.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Come here? My, my, what have you in mind?” 

“Nothing you don’t wish to happen,” John said, and reached out, cupping Jim’s face, gun dropping to point at the ground. “Now then,” he said, dragging the pad of his thumb over Jim’s bottom lip. “You’re going to die,” he said softly. “And this time, I’ll make sure of it.”

Jim giggled, tongue darting out to wet John’s thumb. “I won’t die,” he whispered. “You won’t do anything.”

John smiled again, eyes hard. “On your knees.”

“No,” Jim said, and smiled back. 

“Fine.” John chuckled and leaned in, brushing their lips together in a parody of a loving kiss. Jim sighed, mocking John, even as the doctor stepped away, bringing the gun up in a perfect swift movement and shooting a bullet into each kneecap. 

Jim dropped to his hands and knees with a pained scream. “You shot me!” he shouted, voice ragged and laced with pain as his wings drooped. 

“Obviously,” John said, voice mocking. “I did tell you to go to your knees. Perhaps you’ll listen next time when I tell you to do something. 

Jim began to laugh hysterically. “That’s why Sherlock liked you, isn’t it? I see it now.”

“See what?” John asked, tucking the gun into his waistband and busying himself with a bit of cord. 

“The darkness,” Jim replied. “You could have been great. He kept you from sinking into it. But you could have been great. He was waiting for the day you’d trip up-” Jim gasped as John wrapped the cord around his neck and pulled, hands flying up to claw at it. 

“You always did talk too much,” John said, pulling tighter, smirking at the sounds of pain as Jim balanced on his injured knees, breath taken away. He waited until the struggles had died down, and then released his grip. “You’re wrong you know,” he said, pushing Jim to his hands again as the criminal retched, gasping for air. “I was great. And there is darkness. But I was only ever a danger to myself.” He smirked. “And now you. Because you’ve hurt me terribly, Jim. It's all your fault. And now it's time to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Johnny. I’ll tell Sherlock you said hello. He is dead you know,” Jim replied, voice barely audible, just a broken whisper.

“I know,” John said, and reached forward, snapping Jim’s neck. The criminal tumbled to the ground, wings twisted awkwardly under his body, the blood from his wounds seeping into the shiny black feathers. 

John shrugged, and glanced at the gun. He cocked it, and shot Jim once more, shattering his skull, splattering gore across the concrete floor. “Now it’s fair,” he said softly, and turned, whistling an aimless tune as he walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
